


Play With Me

by Coeurire



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Begging, Gen, Lemon, Not endorsed by the creators of the Sony PS2, Overstimulation, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Sexual Frustration, Voice Kink, at this point for me to write a fic without begging would just be selling out, drag me for not doing my research, i didnt know the konami code when i wrote this, wireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coeurire/pseuds/Coeurire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when you plug a video game controller into a certain sexy robot?</p><p>Reader is completely gender-neutral as well as having a completely ambiguous assignment at birth; no parts of the reader's body are even really described.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play With Me

**Author's Note:**

> it's not garbage. it's garbàge
> 
> for anon

The show was good, but the backstage is better.

Mettaton’s got you pressed against his wall, his hands tangled in your hair and his tongue getting lost in your mouth. His vinyl lips are soft against yours, and they taste inexplicably like strawberry, like they always do. He’s kissing you hungrily, his hands roaming all over your body, and you can barely pull away for long enough to tell him what you need to tell him.

“I brought you something, sweetheart.” 

You reach over to grab it from where it’s been resting on his vanity, and Mettaton’s eyes light up - literally as well as figuratively. In a few seconds you’ve unscrewed his panel and tossed it aside, exposing his outlet for a beautiful second before his metal fingers push yours aside to jam the thing’s plug into it.

“Oh, darling,” he whispers, tilting your chin up with two fingers, “when you told me how you longed to play with me, I didn’t realize you meant it like this.” The Sony PlayStation 2 controller he’s just plugged in dangles from his torso, swinging slowly back and forth. 

You think he enjoys the way it’s tugging on his outlet. 

You push Mettaton down onto the plush stool in front of the vanity. Straddling his lap, you yank the controller to yourself and begin by pressing the Start button; his eyes flicker briefly, but then he waits patiently for something else. You go through the buttons, first O then X, the other shapes, the arrows one at a time, R1, R2…Why isn’t this doing anything? 

Mettaton just smiles prettily. “Oh, why how nice, beauty,” he chirps in a sickeningly sweet voice, “but I thought you wanted to get me off, not fucking toy with me like this.”

His teasing has an edge to it, and you can see that nasty fuck-me-or-get-out look on his face. He’s like this a lot; impatient and self-centered, he’d rather push his own buttons than wait for you to fumble your way to figuring out how to get him off. But he has reason to feel this way; he’s doing you a favor just by letting you touch him, let alone sit on him, get pleasure from his humming motor. You can’t fuck this up.

So you smash your palm into all the front buttons at once, and feel the effects instantly. The signals jolt Mettaton, sending a quaver through his whole body and producing the most delightful noises from his throat. You don’t know what exactly you’ve just done to him, but obviously something hot, something that sent a signal through him. Encouraged, you mash the buttons again, and again, and yet a fourth time.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he vocalizes, his voice already starting to jump up and down the scale. Static’s pouring from him, and you can tell if he could sweat he would be; instead, he grins at you, biting his lip deliciously. “That’s more like it, sweetheart. Don’t stop! Pl–” 

He’s cut off as you begin to fiddle with the joysticks, rubbing out circles like your character’s spinning around. Mettaton’s groaning quietly, his head thrown back now and his legs vibrating - and oh god, it feels so good to be sitting on him when he’s like this. You can feel yourself stirring against him, but this is about him right now, not you, so you keep rubbing and press a kiss to his metal neck. 

You’re rewarded for your efforts with a loud beep like an error message, and his gloved hands claw their way down your back. “More, darling, more more more,” he whines, writhing and buzzing beneath you. He’s putty in your hands as you press the buttons with one hand, rubbing the joystick with the other. As he pleads, “Yes, darling, yes, don’t stop,” pink goo begins to drip from his mouth. You love the way he always puts on a show. 

And you start to try combos.

It’s a very trial and error process. Some combos do nothing; others make him move, quiver, vocalize. Up-right-right-circle, and his legs wrap around you. Up-up-square-square and each button press makes his head whip upward. R1+L1+Left, and he starts singing in a chiptune voice that it doesn’t seem like he can help, but he’s too far gone to care. You lose track of what’s what as you try combo after combo. Some make him touch you, grabbing at your chest or gripping your thighs; others make him vibrate harder or softer; one makes him let out an ear-piercing metallic screech.

You’re so lost in his body, so obsessed with finding each combo that you can barely hear him pleading through the static “Oh, darling,” he’s begging, “make me cum, please, please, I’m so close…” 

You abandon the combo-searching to focus on the joysticks, now twiddling both of them simultaneously. You watch him get closer, closer, his arms snaking up your back, and all he can feel is the controller, the double signals running through him in just the right way, and starts calling your name, over and over and over.

Finally he lurches forward into you and cums, hard, screaming your name until his voice turns to static. His heart pumping hot sweet goop all over the both of you, and you should be pissed about ruining your best outfit, but you’re too intoxicated by how fucking good it feels. 

You pull him into you during the afterglow, whimpering and vibrating and sending out the occasional beep or error message. Finally, he comes down, and for once looks at you like you’re the greatest thing he’s ever seen. “Sweetheart….”

And in a second he’s pushed you off him and down into the chair, and sunk to his knees. He stares up at you with a naughty grin, his hands roaming up your thighs. “Your turn.”


End file.
